


Grief is the Price We Pay

by allypx



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Canary Wharf Battle, Friendship, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allypx/pseuds/allypx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the anniversary of the Battle of Canary Wharf Ianto finds support from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief is the Price We Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by: electrictoes  
> Jack's quote and title taken from a message from HM the Queen following the events of 9/11. No offence intended - it is one of the most profound things I have ever heard.  
> I have deliberately kept the location and denomination of the church ambiguous.

The Rev Rhodri Mathews closed his aging laptop with a resounding click and wondered where the inspiration for the coming Sunday’s sermon would come from.

He leaned back in his chair and glanced out of the window of the vestry and noticed, to his surprise, that it was starting to get dark. He turned on his desk lamp and the area surrounding his desk was filled with muted light, making it seen even darker outside. Perhaps, Rhodri mused, he would go and lock up the church and distract himself from his infuriating sermon. Standing, he removed the cardigan he had taken to wearing whilst in his frequently glacial church from the back of his chair and, pulling it on, made his way out of the vestry.

The old church still filled him with awe every time he stepped into it, with its spectacular Victorian altar, and vivid stained glass windows. In his 35 years of ministry it was without doubt his favourite posting. He had a loyal, but aging congregation and he had presided over life’s momentous events - joyful and sad - for most of them.

Rhodri got slowly to his knees on the slightly worn blue carpet in front of the altar and bent his head in prayer. After some minutes he was distracted from his devotions by the metallic clanking of the door handle of the building and the whining creak of the old oak door as it opened. The tick, tick, tick sound of footsteps across the flagstones echoed throughout the empty church and then came to an abrupt halt. Rhodri stood slowly and turned to greet his unexpected parishioner.

The young man who entered the church stood in line with the back row of pews and looked about him uncertainly, before sliding gracefully onto the wooden seat and bowing his head. Rhodri looked at him curiously, certain he was neither a member of his congregation, nor one of their many offspring whom he rarely saw in between their own Christening and wedding. The stranger was immaculately dressed in a black suit and shirt, with a dark grey tie.

Rhodri walked down the aisle towards the young man, intending to gently but firmly inform him that he was about to lock up the church, but as he approached him the man looked up and made brief eye contact with him, before resuming his intense study of his own hands clasped in front of him. In that instant Rhodri knew that he could not ask the young man to leave, that fleeting glance had shocked and saddened him, he had seen it all too many times. This man looked as if his very soul was in pain.

“Good evening,” Rhodri said quietly. The young man started and looked at him, head still bowed. He gave Rhodri a little nod of acknowledgement. “I was about to lock up, “ he continued, gesturing towards the door. The man started to get to his feet, murmuring a quiet apology.

Rhodri stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright. Stay, if it will help.” The man nodded and sat back down. “I have some work I can be getting on with out the back," Rhodri explained resting against the pew in front of his companion, “Or I can sit for a while, if you would like me to?” he offered. The man replied with a non-committal shrug and taking that as an invitation Rhodri sat down in the pew in front of him and turned to face him. The young man shifted uncomfortably in his seat and picked up a prayer book, turning it over and over in his hands.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said eventually, so softly that Rhodri could barely hear him, as close as they were. He waited for the man to continue, for some sort of explanation, but none was forthcoming. They sat in silence for some minutes.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” Rhodri asked gently. The young man shook his head.

“No. I just wanted to be somewhere quiet, peaceful.” He looked around him, taking in the images in the windows and looking intently at the plaque on the wall at the end of the pew that immortalised the names of the congregation who had fallen in the Great War. “It’s lovely, your church.” The serene calm of the church seemed to be relieving the tension in the young man and he attempted a smile at the priest.

“Is there anything I can do?” Rhodri asked. The need to do something to help this troubled young stranger was overwhelming.

“I’d just like to sit for a while, if that’s okay. I thought I might light a candle...” the young man said, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the votive candles.

Rhodri nodded his assent. “I’ll get on with my sermon then. I’ll come back in a while,” he said, standing. “Would you like me to pray with you before I go?” The man shook his head and Rhodri didn’t press the matter. “I could pray for you, if you prefer”

“No!” The reply started Rhodri a little. The apology that followed was as swift as the refusal. “Don’t pray for me, Father. I’m still here.” Rhodri felt a hand on his arm and he looked down at the young man. Their gazes locked and the sadness in the eyes of the stranger was heartbreaking as he pleaded with Rhodri, “Pray for them...Pray for the seven hundred that aren’t!”

The words echoed in Rhodri’s head as he walked back to his vestry. “.... _for the seven hundred that aren’t.”_

He sank down heavily in his chair and determined to find out what the young man had meant.

***

Ianto Jones watched the retreating figure of the priest until he was out of sight. He felt a twinge of conscience about his reaction towards his offer of a prayer and hoped he hadn’t offended him. When he had entered the church he had not expected to see anyone there, deliberately choosing a time when he thought he would be undisturbed. There had been a time when the priest’s offer would have been a comfort, but Ianto’s faith had died as well on that fateful day. Something else that Torchwood had robbed him of he thought bitterly, but today he had felt drawn to the church, needed the reassurance of order and ritual he remembered from his childhood.

Ianto slid out of the pew and walked towards the back of the church, past the font, towards the votive candles. Only two were lit and one of those was almost spent. The dark gloom of the church seemed to press against him like a living thing. Hesitantly, he reached into the box for a candle and lit it. The flame flared into life and he stared at the light; transfixed as it flickered and danced, a small beacon chasing away the darkness.

He lit another. And another. Firstly in memory of whole floors of colleagues who had perished that day; Basement; Archives, Secure Storage and Transport. Floor One; Reception and Security. Floor Seven; Research and Development, Conference Suite and Staff Restaurant. Floor Twelve; Human Resources and Management Suite.

In the ever increasing blaze of heat and light he began to light candles for his friends and close colleagues.

For Matt from Security who he used to go to the The Slug and Lettuce with after work. They had been on the same induction course and had become drinking partners the same day.

For Anita who worked in the Staff Restaurant. She used to tell him off for being too thin and tried to “feed him up a bit”. She made Welsh cakes on the last St David’s Day before the Battle and said they were especially for him. They had been nice, but not as good as his gran’s.

For Geraint of Corporate Affairs, who he had struck up an instant friendship with, initially because they were both Welsh and despite the fact that Geraint hailed from Swansea. They had watched the Six Nations in Ianto’s flat that last year and had a drunken kiss when Wales beat England in the last minute.

For Director Hartman, because Ianto was loyal to a fault and because no-one deserved to have their actions backfire on them quite so spectacularly.

Ianto lit candles until the box was empty,and then, wrapping his arms around himself, leaned against a wooden beam and watched as the candles flickered and guttered. He wished Jack was there. 

***

Rhodri’s research had taken him a matter of minutes, ably assisted by the “On This Day” page of the BBC website. He sat staring at the images on the laptop’s screen in something akin to horror, trying hard not to curse himself for failing to realise the significance of the date. He looked again at the now iconic picture of body bags outside Canary Wharf Tower, lines and lines of them, and at the headline above them that starkly proclaimed “Terrorist attack on Canary Wharf - 797 feared dead”

_“I’m still here...pray for the seven hundred who aren’t._ ” The words of the young man currently sitting alone and grieving in his church slammed into Rhodri’s head, reverberating around inside it like the bell in the tower above him, as his gaze fell upon the smaller by-line in the article “Just 27 survive" 

Rhodri was familiar with grief in all its faces. It came into his church with his parishioners and strangers alike and it left its mark on each and every one of them. He hadn’t seen the sorrow that was etched on the young man’s face for more years than he cared to remember, not since he was newly ordained with his first parish in the Valleys and there was an accident down the pit. It was the expression he had seen, not on the faces of the bereaved, but in the eyes of the survivors. Suddenly it all made sense. Surely, the young man in his church had not lost a loved one on that day, he must have been there - must be one of the twenty-seven.

The words on the screen blurred and merged as Rhodri stared at them, lost in thought. He knew he had to help the young stranger, what he didn’t know was how. As he sat in deep contemplation Rhodri failed to notice a large black vehicle pass the window and slowly make its way along the gravel approach to the church door.

***

Jack Harkness looked about him as he got out of the SUV. The old church was tastefully lit in the growing twilight, discrete floodlights highlighting the beautiful stained glass windows. Gravel crunched under his feet as Jack walked around the car, stopping at the boot. He removed his gun and holster, locking them away securely. A church was no place to be carrying a weapon.

The heavy door of the church creaked as Jack closed it behind him. He spotted Ianto immediately, leaning against a beam, and was suddenly torn as to whether approach his lover, or to creep quietly out and wait for him in the SUV. As Jack stood, uncertain, Ianto’s voice broke the silence.

“I was wondering when you would show up.” Jack couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell if Ianto was angry with him. Ianto’s voice sounded calm, but he didn’t turn around to face Jack.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you”, Jack apologised as he approached Ianto. “Shall I go, wait for you outside?” Ianto turned to face Jack as he reached his side. Jack gasped softly as the flickering light of dozens of candles played across Ianto’s face and he thought Ianto had never looked so...beautiful. Or so lost.

“If you hadn’t come I would’ve called you.” Ianto’s voice cracked as he looked at Jack, his eyes starting to fill.

“C’mere.” Jack reached out to Ianto and pulled him in close. Ianto went into his embrace willingly, one hand snaking round to rest in the small of Jack’s back, the other twisted tightly in the material of his shirt, the buttons cutting into his hand. He buried his face in the crook of Jack’s neck.

“Tough day, huh?” Jack said into Ianto’s hair, kissing him on the head. Ianto’s grip on him tightened imperceptibly.

“I’m alright,” Ianto replied, his voice muffled against Jack’s chest.

“Never said you weren’t,” Jack said gently, although it was obvious that Ianto was far from alright. “but you know you don’t have to do this all alone don’t you? Not anymore.” Ianto nodded against his chest. Jack took half a pace back, grasped Ianto by his upper arms and put some space between them. Ianto looked at him and frowned in confusion.

“Jack?”

“I just want to help, be there for you, but you have to let me.” Jack looked hurt.

“You do help,” Ianto insisted, “more than you know. I thought I’d be okay, but...” Ianto halted and looked away from Jack’s intense gaze, stared at the floor, “...sometimes I find it hard to....” he shrugged, “You know?”

Jack closed the gap between them, enfolded Ianto back into his arms. “Promise me you’ll try,” he whispered into Ianto’s ear.

“I’ll try,” promised Ianto and Jack hugged him tightly. They stood wrapped around each other in comfortable silence, bathed in the light of the burning candles.

“Did you light _all_ of those?” Jack eventually broke the silence, nodding towards the candles.

“Most of them” Ianto admitted.

“Whose is that one?” Jack pointed.

“Clare’s,” replied Ianto promptly “Wore very tight skirts, worked in I.T.” He smiled. “We used to work the cables loose in the computers, just so she had to crawl under the desk.” Jack laughed quietly as Ianto pointed out candle after candle, each accompanied with a fond memory or a funny story.

“I’m remembering the funny things about them all, normal things” Ianto said suddenly, in the middle of a story about how he once found Andrew from Human Resources and Ross from Financial Services in a passionate clinch in a supply cupboard. “Do you think that means it’s getting easier?” he asked tentatively, looking at Jack.

Jack nodded emphatically. “When you start to remember how they lived, and not how they died, yes.” Ianto let out a shaky breath and Jack tightened his grip around his waist. Ianto leant into him and rested his head on Jack shoulder.

***

Rhodri pressed the print key on his laptop and waited for the printer to whirr into life. He stood to retrieve the single sheet of paper and after looking at it, folded it twice and placed it carefully in the pocket of his cardigan. Rhodri paused in the doorway of the vestry, took a deep breath then with an air of determination made his way out of the room.

***

 

Jack guided Ianto to sit on a step, its blue carpet worn with years of use. It provided little protection against the stone underneath, but neither man noticed. They sat touching from shoulder to thigh, Ianto’s long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, his left hand clasped tightly in Jack's. Jack studied him intently as Ianto stared off into the middle distance, the candle light casting a golden glow over his face. Jack wondered what was going through the mind of his young lover when suddenly Ianto broke the silence.

“I used to feel guilty all the time, for not dying.” he turned to look at Jack.

“You know that’s normal, don’t you?” Jack replied, relieved that Ianto felt able to voice his thoughts to him. Ianto wasn’t much of talker about such things, but Jack was learning to read him nowadays. Ianto might be able to hide his feelings behind a fake facade, but his eyes could never hide how he really felt. At the moment they were betraying him completely, showing sadness, guilt and insecurity.

Ianto nodded. “Survivors guilt. I know. The counsellor said...I only went once, it was a waste of time.” Ianto gave Jack a sideways look at the sound of disapproval that Jack had made. “But now...” Ianto trailed off. Jack remained silent, but squeezed his hand a little tighter, encouraging him to continue.

“But now, I’m just glad I did. I mean...when I’m with y..” Ianto cleared his throat nervously and risked a look at Jack. Jack smiled reassuringly. “Some of them were my friends, I loved some of them and I miss them! I try to remember the good things and mostly I can, but some days I can’t. Its like it all happened yesterday and then all the bad memories come back. I miss them, Jack.” Ianto’s voice wavered slightly.

“‘Grief is the price we pay for love.’” quoted Jack softly. He released Ianto’s hand, put his arm around his shoulder and pulled Ianto close. “But if we close ourselves off from love for the fear of the grief that will come, well, that’s no life, is it?” _And I should know, I was doing it for years until you came along._

“It isn’t, no” Ianto agreed with a shaky sigh, “ I can’t change anything that happened that day and I accept that, but I’ve often wondered why...” he trailed off, unwilling to confide even to Jack.

“Oh, Ianto. Is that’s why you came here today?” Jack asked him, gently “You want to know why you survived?” Ianto shrugged. “I don’t know if you’ll ever get an answer to that question. It might have been fate, it might have been sheer, dumb luck!” Jack turned Ianto to face him, watched as Ianto considered what he said. “Maybe,” Jack continued, “it _was_ your God, or any other deity you care to name, but you wanna know what I think?”

Ianto looked over at the candles and then back at Jack, nodded for him to continue. Jack paused before speaking. “I think you survived that day, because it was meant to be.”

Ianto frowned in confusion “That makes no more sense than the other possibilities.” he said eventually, exasperated. Jack sighed and kissed him on the head.

“I know. I don’t have the answer, I wish I did.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Ianto told him, “maybe I’ll never know and that’ll have to be okay.”

Jack released his hold on Ianto and rose to his feet, extending a hand out to Ianto. Ianto grasped his hand and allowed Jack to pull him to his feet, and straight into a warm embrace. Ianto gave a contented sigh as his arms went around Jack. _Maybe someone knew I needed you_ Jack thought as Ianto pulled him closer and moved in to kiss him. Standing as he was, with his back to the nave of the church, Ianto didn’t notice the return of the priest and Jack’s warning against his lips went unheeded as he kissed Jack slowly.

Jack broke the kiss reluctantly and grinned at the small noise of protest that Ianto let out. Ianto opened his eyes and frowned at Jack in displeasure.

“Vicar at twelve o’clock” Jack whispered to him, laughing as Ianto blushed furiously and struggled to disentangle himself.

***

As Rhodri made his way down the aisle, he noted with some surprise that there were now two strange men in his church. Kissing. Rhodri looked at the new stranger appraisingly. He was tall, older and very good looking. Rhodri took in the dated uniform, which suited the man perfectly, and pulled self consciously at his old saggy grey cardigan. As he approached the pair, he noticed the older man whisper to the younger. Whatever was said resulted in the younger man pulling out of the embrace that Rhodri had caught them in. Rhodri smiled.

 

***.

“Good evening, Father.” Jack extended his right hand. The two men shook hands and introduced themselves, “ and this is Ianto Jones.” Jack continued.

“Hello - again.” said Ianto, shaking hands with Rhodri.

“I did as you asked," Rhodri said, fishing the piece of paper out of his pocket and handing it to Ianto, “and I prayed for your friends.”

Ianto took the piece of paper wordlessly and unfolded it. Jack watched the colour drain out of Ianto’s face as he looked at it. Jack pulled him closer as he too scanned the piece of paper that Ianto now held loosely in a slightly shaky grip. Ianto looked up at the vaulted ceiling of the church trying to avoid the gaze of both Jack and the priest.

“You were there that day.” Ianto heard the priest say. It wasn’t a question. Ianto bought his hand up to his mouth, nodded, and tried not loose control. He was vaguely aware of Jack’s presence, felt the tension in him increase as the priest, Rhodri , Ianto thought absently, continued “I’m sorry for your loss.” Ianto fought the impulse to laugh - how many times had he heard that he wondered. He looked at the priest and saw genuine empathy in the old man’s face. The compassion of a total stranger was almost his undoing and he struggled to maintain his composure as he muttered his thanks.

Jack watched the exchange with increasing concern, ready to intervene if Ianto appeared to not be coping with the situation.

Rhodri thought carefully before speaking again. The young man - Ianto - was visibly shaken and his friend, partner, radiated protective concern, but Rhodri could not escape the fact that it was here, to his church, that the young man had come on what was surely a traumatic day for him.

“If I had survived that, I think I would want some answers.” Rhodri said, gently. Ianto looked at him and Rhodri was moved by the hope in the blue eyes that met his. Rhodri took a step closer to the two men. Jack shot him a warning look. The implication to tread carefully was clear.

“Do you even know the questions?” Rhodri asked. Ianto shook his head, exhaled heavily, shakily. Rhodri was acutely aware that his previous offer had been rebuffed, but the hope in the young man’s eyes encouraged him to offer again.

“Shall we ask together?” he suggested nodding towards the altar. Ianto hesitated then nodded in agreement. 

Jack watched as Rhodri put a guiding hand on Ianto’s back and led him through the church. Jack thought that his own support, emotional and more often than not physical was all very well but maybe Ianto sometimes needed more. Especially on this day.

Jack leaned against the oak beam and looked on as Ianto and the priest knelt side by side at the altar. As they bowed their heads, Jack murmured long forgotten prayers to the spirits of his own childhood - the Boeshane prayers for peace and tranquility; for the safekeeping of loved ones. The words spilled from his lips as the litany continued while Ianto prayed to his God. The tears streaming down his face went unchecked.

Jack kept his vigil until, at length, Ianto finally got to his feet and politely waited for Rhodri to do the same, seemingly hesitant as to whether he should offer the elderly priest a helping hand. Jack hurridly wiped his eyes, scrubbed the tears from his face and attempted to fix a smile on his face as the two men walked towards him.

Ianto looked pale and tired, Jack thought, but he was relieved to see his expression seemed more relaxed as he chatted conversationally with the priest, at one point taking out his mobile and apparently entering a number.

“...can call me any time.” Jack heard Rhodri say as the two men came into earshot.

“I will, thank you.” Ianto smiled at Rhodri, and reached out a hand for Jack. Jack stepped forward, took Ianto’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. They looked at each other for a long moment, Jack searching for any sign of anxiety from Ianto, and Ianto trying to impart to Jack his own increasing feeling of calmness.

Rhodri watched on, smiling at the obvious affection between the two men, and reflected that love could help the human spirit to overcome the worst of tragedies. And there, he thought, was his sermon for Sunday.

“Father....Father!” Rhodri was interrupted from his musing by the Captain trying to get his attention.

“Sorry,” he apologised, “miles away.”

“Thank you for...” Jack nodded towards the altar. Rhodri extended his hand and the two men shook hands again.

Rhodri looked at Ianto and smiled warmly. “It was my pleasure.”

“I lit all your candles.” Ianto said apologetically.

“And don’t they look beautiful? Come and light them all whenever you like.” replied Rhodri. Ianto looked embarrassed.

“I should make a donation.” Ianto released Jack’s hand and began to search for his wallet in his pockets, growing increasingly frustrated when he couldn’t seem to find it, “I can’t find....” he turned to Jack, but it was Rhodri who answered.

“Please.” he patted Ianto on the shoulder kindly, “don’t be worrying yourself.” Ianto was not convinced, looking in confusion at Jack.

“Ianto, stop” Jack said gently, taking both of Ianto’s hands in his, stilling them “Father Rhodri doesn’t want your money.”

“But...” Ianto began to protest.

“I’ll sort it, “Jack whispered to him. “You ready to go home now?”

“Yup” Ianto nodded and turned to Rhodri “Thank you...I...” he stammered. Rhodri nodded understandingly.

“Bless you, Ianto. Take care of yourself now.” The two men shook hands warmly, then Rhodri watched as the two men walked to the door of the church and left. He locked the door behind them and then walked back to the candles and slowly began to blow them out.

***

 

Two days after his encounter with Ianto Jones and his Captain, the Rev Rhodri Matthews found a blank envelope pushed under the door of his church as he unlocked it to prepare for Sunday service. Inside the envelope was a cheque, drawn on an overseas account, for more money than Rhodri had ever seen in his life.

The note attached simply read “For candles” and was signed Capt J Harkness.

Fin


End file.
